


Paws Drabbles

by KathGrau



Series: Paws [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Short, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathGrau/pseuds/KathGrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various short pieces in the Paws universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paws (at FLETC)

Special Agent Gibbs looked up over the rims of his hated reading glasses when, after a short knock, the door to his temporary office opened and Derek Marshall, one of his colleagues, entered and let himself fall into the visitor's chair.

“Gunny, your Feline is a menace.” For a change the Fitness Instructor sounded more resigned than condescending. The strict and very by the book man hadn't held back his opinion about allowing a Feline to attend classes at the Training Center, especially not his class. 

“What did he do this time?” Gibbs folded his glasses and leaned back in his chair. When they had arrived at the Center Tony had promised him not to aggravate the locals and to be an exemplary student, just like the others. Really, the boss wouldn't be able to tell him apart from the other trainees, just that Tony was of course more awesome! But as the week had progressed, and especially Marshall's comments grown more pointed, exemplary got a new definition sometimes. Like after the leading clique of agents in training made one too many comments about why Tony wasn't shooting his 'real precision weapon', Tony had voluntarily spent his free day at the shooting range putting holes in the crotch area of ever target paper, no matter the distance. At the end of the day he had been very precise indeed and word about it got around fast.

Marshall looked like he didn't know if he should laugh or shout. “I planned a cross country track competition for today and promised him, if he wins, that I would stop calling him kitty. If he didn't I would kick him out of his cozy bed at 0430 every morning till the end of his stay.”

Tony was a good sprinter but long distances were not his strength and as a - what had his companion called himself, a City Slicker?- he wasn't too happy about wood tracks either, especially when it was raining, like today. Mud and Tony simply didn't mix.

Gibbs' lips began to twitch. Suddenly some purchases Tony had made yesterday made a lot more sense. 

There was no way Tony would have accepted that bet without stacking the odds in his favor. He loved his morning sessions in bed with Jethro far too much to risk them. “Don't tell me: the last part of the track, after agility, climbing, balance and crawling sections is a long distance running part to judge their endurance.” Gibbs laughed openly now. Marshall had copied many of his methods for torturing fresh agents off military boot camp tactics. 

“He wasn't bad, in the top five of his group when they came to that last part. Then he ripped away his clothes like a damn stripper, lost his boots, morphed and boy can that tiger run!” Marshall shook his head.

“He beat your record.” Gibbs stated.

“Yeah. And I can't even accuse him of cheating. He didn't use drugs, he didn't use a shortcut...”

“He played on his strengths.” With the help of some Velcro pads, scissors, threat and a needle. 

Only his Tony. 

.-#-.


	2. Paws (at the hospital)

.-#-.

“Stupid, heroic, self sacrificing, idiotic, pig-headed,...” Tony banged his hands against the steering wheel of the Sedan. He wasn't yet allowed to drive the damn vehicle, he would take his test this summer, but the door was nearer to the ER room entrance and he could better observe the comings and goings.

Still far to far away from where he wanted to be so desperately.

He didn't even try to sneak inside. The staff had threatened to remove him with the help of guards and call the Secret Service if he tried once again. Felines were only allowed in hospitals if they were injured themselves. Apparently fur wasn't hygienic enough. 

Tony reached back to his neck and pulled at the fur there, like it would come off, ignoring the stabs of pain it caused him. Unhygienic! Him! As if he was a flee ridden poodle, not Jethro's life partner! He should be allowed to wait for news in the waiting room.

Someone knocked on the car window. It wasn't the side to the hospital so Tony hadn't paid attention.

“Tim!”

His friend rounded the car, opened the door and held out a brown bag to him. “Here.”

“I'm not hungry, I told you already.” Tony growled and ignored the bag.

McGee sighed. “He is going to be OK, the doctors said there should be no complications. The boss is much too stubborn to be taken down by a simple through and through to the shoulder. But YOU might not survive the aftermath, playing nursemaid for him. I think he will be a night mare reconvalescent when he is allowed to go home. And this is not food. Stop the dramatics.”

At the moment Tony didn't care if Jethro would be in a worse snit than the one he he got stuck in after he had to speak with that psycho on SecNav's orders. And Tim's reassurances were fine and dandy but... Tony wanted to see Gibbs NOW. See with his own eyes that he was breathing, not limp on a stretcher, with his eyes closed. There had been so much blood. Tony gulped

“Here take this.” The young agent impatiently upended the content of his bag into the Feline's lap.

A new set of clothes out of his wardrobe at home, scissors and colored contact lenses! And a packet of dark brown hair die.

“Tim, you are the best! I could kiss you.”

The computer geek grinned. “Please don't. I wanna live and Gibbs would kill me. There's a McDonnalds around the corner, lets use their restroom.”

A weak smile stole on the Feline's lips. “Good thing that we watched 'The Fugitive' so often, huh?”

McGee smiled, equally weakly. “I prefer to think I thought of it because of the undercover lectures.”

Tony picked up the hair die and squinted at the instructions on the back. The light in the car was insufficient to decipher the small print. “Is it a permanent coloration?”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

.-#-.


End file.
